Changing Michael by Jeff Schilling

Author:Jeff Schilling
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: young adult, coming of age, gender, identity, lgbt, high school, outcast
Publisher: Bancroft Press
Published: 2014-08-27T03:36:52+00:00

I caught Michael later that day. We were between classes. I was walking toward his locker and he was digging for something.

He was less than enthusiastic when I told him about Wanda.

“Wanda?” was all he could manage.

I closed my eyes and sighed. “Yes, Wanda. She’s perfect.”

“Am I going to . . . I mean, are we—”

“Are you going to have to touch her?” I asked. “Yes, Michael, you’re going to have to touch her. You’re going to have to touch a girl. It’s got to be believable, just like the racing stuff.”

“I’ve made out with girls before,” Michael said, not bothering to look at me.

The phrase “made out” sounded ridiculous coming out of his mouth.

“When?” I asked.

He mumbled something.

“When?!”

“Fifth grade,” he said quietly.

“What do you mean? Was it some kind of orgy?”

“What?!”

“Well, you just said you ‘made out with girls’ in fifth grade.”

“Not at the same time.”

“Uh-huh. Any women since your fifth-grade days?”

“Not really,” he mumbled.

“Not really?”

“None, okay?”

“Don’t get all cramped-up, Michael. I’m like a doctor,” I said. “I need to know these things in order to treat you.”

He stared at the floor, clenched his teeth, and nodded grimly.

“Now, when was the last time you had a good bowel movement?”

“What?”

“Kidding,” I said. “Look, someone has to ask the hard questions. I can’t have you turning bright red and giggling when Wanda grabs your hand.”

“I’m not going to giggle,” he snapped.

I thought for a moment. “You want to practice?” I said.

“What?”

“Should we practice holding hands?”

“No!”

“Fine,” I replied. “But if you mess it up, I’m really gonna be pissed.”

“I’m not going to mess it up.”

“We’re going to try Friday,” I said. “And before you say, ‘This Friday?!,’ yes, this Friday.”

He nodded.

“Oh, wait . . . Will Gut be there after school?”

“He’s between jobs,” Michael said, sourly.

“What about Mom?”

He shook his head.

“Too bad,” I said. “But it’ll have to do. We’ll meet you in the parking lot after school, okay?”

Michael nodded. I left him standing by his locker.

Looking back, I can’t understand why I didn’t insist on a dress rehearsal. I don’t know what I was thinking, letting Michael get away without one. I do remember hoping Gut would be mad enough to throw us all out of the house. Then again, I kept hoping he’d wear one of those sleeveless t-shirts, too.

I never get what I want.

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